Chapter I: A Little Child Shall Lead Them

Forgetting in an instant both his hunger and his weakness, Robin lifted the little child into his arms. She was very pretty; she had golden curls peeping out under her fur cap, and her eyes were as blue as the July sky. Robin had never seen anything so lovely as her little face appeared to him in his life. The feel of her fur clad arms round his neck comforted and warmed him; he was by no means anxious to get rid of her. He hurried down the first side street he could find, and then leant against the wall that was most in shadow, to take breath and think. He did this because he feared that in the open street the police would see him, and remove the pretty child from his care. The moment he took her up she stopped crying, nor did she speak until Robin paused to rest.

"Are we going 'ome, boy?" she said then.

"Yes, yes, little missy, ef little missy'll tell me where."

"Go on, then," she said, beating his shoulder impatiently.

"But I doesn't know the way. Where'll I take you, pretty little dear?"

"What 'ou say?" demanded the child.

"Where does missy live? and I'll take 'er 'ome this blessed minit."

"Tupid boy!" repeated the little thing impatiently. "Where I live? Course I live wid my ma-_ma_; dere! Go on."

Robin moved forward a few paces, a good deal puzzled now, for he saw the child could not direct him. What should he do with her? Of course the police would take her off his hands at once; but somehow he liked to have her with him; he was not nearly so lonely nor hungry since she was in his arms. Surely he might keep her for one night, and give her up to the police in the morning; the touch of her clinging arms was so pleasant to him, and then she was so lovely! He had seen flowers in shop-windows, he had seen beautiful children, but never before had so fair a little face been brought close to his own. In the midst of his meditations the child called out Imperiously,--

"Go on quicker, wagged boy! I hungly, and I want my ma-_ma_."

This remark came upon Robin with a kind of shock; for the last few minutes he had really, in his excitement and pleasure, forgotten his own exceeding hunger; but these few words brought it painfully back to him. He was hungry, and had no means to buy food; that now was a small thing; but the little child in his arms was also hungry, and he had nothing to give her; measuring her hunger by his own, he felt almost agony at the thought of what she must be suffering. He did not know that the well-fed child had never experienced the true meaning of that terrible word hunger. But her healthy appetite being awake, she went on moaning fretfully,--

"I so hungly, so hungly. Dolly _do_ want her supper, and ma-_ma_."

In despair at these cries, which he could not satisfy, Robin was about really to deliver up the child to the first policeman he could find, when suddenly out of a shop came a gentleman, with a small end of a pocket handkerchief hanging out of his coat-tail. This was the chance Robin had been looking in vain for all day. Quick as thought, he whispered to the child to be good for an instant, placed her on the pavement, and darting after his unsuspecting victim, secured the prize. He came back in high spirits, laughing and pleased now. The handkerchief was a silk one, and he knew that when disposed of, it would bring him in enough of money to buy supper both for himself and the child.

"Missy shall not wait for her mamma," he said. "I'll buy dear, pretty little miss a cake in no time."

"Cake with gleat plums in it, boy? That's what Dolly likes."

"Werry well, deary; h'any sort yer'll 'ave, as yer wishes for."

Turning into a low street, he sold the handkerchief for eightpence, purchased two buns stuck over with plums for the child, and a great hunch of bread and a red herring for himself. The little girl munched her cake quietly, and Robin thrust a large piece of bread into his mouth. Now that both their hunger was likely to be satisfied, his mind was quite made up. He would keep the little child for one night, though he felt he must resign her in the morning. Though he knew in the morning he must give her up, yet for one night he would keep her; for a few hours longer he would feel her dear little arms about his neck. As he found her, as he had rescued her from being quite lost in the street, he, felt that he might give himself this great pleasure. Yes for one night he would keep the baby.

Where, then, should they pass it, the ragged boy and the dainty and delicate child? The winter snow was still silently and softly dropping from the sky; the winter wind sounded melancholy, funereal; he could not keep the baby in the streets all night; even if he was strong enough to carry her, he could not dare to expose so delicate and lovely a little creature to the winter's cold.

Robin had enough, just enough money left after their supper, to provide the worst and lowest lodging for them both. But some instinct told the boy that there were words spoken there, and deeds done, which the little child, even in her babyhood, must never witness. Passing by an archway, he peered in. Was there?--yes, there was a cart there, a cart nearly half filled, too, with straw. With a glad cry the boy darted forward, stumbled into the cart, and nearly buried himself and the child in the fragrant hay.

"Now, then, missy--poor boy werry tired--we'll rest yere fur a bit."

"And then go on?" said Dolly.

"Yes, missy, that we will."

"Is it far to my mamma now, boy?"

"No, no; werry close now, pretty pet."

"Well, I'se seepy; I'll just sut my eyes while you is resting."

She laid her little head against Robin's shoulder, while he piled the warm, clean straw thicker about her. Suddenly, when he thought she was really asleep, she started up.

"Bad, tupid boy! you was lettin' me dop off to seep wifout saying my py-airs."

"Wot h'ever's them?" said Robin.

Unheeding him, the child scrambled to a kneeling posture, folded her hands, looked up devoutly.

"'Our Father,'" said Dolly. Then she paused, gazed hard at Robin, said "Our Father" again, then demanded, "What nex, boy, what the odder words? Dolly forgets."

"Dunno, missy; dunno nothink 'bout it."

"Tupid! Well 'Our Father' must do for py-air until I get to my mamma. Now, my verse, my littlest verse, for I so seepy. 'God is love.' What I say, tupid boy?"

"'God is love,' missy."

"Yes, God love Dolly, and poor, wagged, tupid boy. Good-night, wagged boy; you may go on when you is rested."

The lips of the beautiful, high-born child were raised to the lips of the street Arab and the thief; a moment later and two pair of eyes were closed, and two little hearts were for the present at rest. Perhaps their guardian angels watched over the children--doubtless their _Father_ did.